


Hardly Know You, But The Signs Are All Pretty Loud

by BrightBlackTrees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben is an artist, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Rey has a cold, Rey has made mistakes in life, Rey is having a bad day, Strangers to Lovers, are we seriously flirting over dungeons and dragons, it's not okay to stare at strangers Ben, more on that later, so is Ben actually, there's always a silver lining to your water being off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightBlackTrees/pseuds/BrightBlackTrees
Summary: The universe has a habit of throwing people together in strange and unexpected ways.Their story starts with a broken washing machine.This is five times that Rey and Ben bumped into each other by accident and one time they didn't.*Ratings will definitely change*





	Hardly Know You, But The Signs Are All Pretty Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Well hey there!  
> This will be my first multi-chapter fic. It's based on the 5+1 trope. It started off as a bit of drabbley fun and was originally only meant to be a one shot buuut it got a little out of hand so I thought, fuck it. The characters just do what they damn well please anyway, who am I to dictate their story?  
> Ratings will absolutely change as more chapters go up. Tags will be added accordingly.  
> For now, here's how this version of our beloved Reylo met.

 

_All this time I was just running around_

_A beautiful mind between those eyes_

_I wasn't looking but, oh, I found_

_A gap in the clouds, the sun comes out_

_We'll stay up all night, make you feel alright._

 

\---

So far, three things were off about Rey's day.

The first was that her washing machine was broken. She wasn't the kind of person who got precious over doing her laundry religiously, but her landlord was certainly taking his sweet time about replacing it for her and that was after the near argument she'd had with him about whether or not she herself would have to cough up for a new one once they discovered it couldn't be repaired. Even if she had the money for a new one, the machine had come with the apartment when she'd moved in a year and a half ago and had likely been there for at least a decade before that so there was no way she was going to claim responsibility for the costs.

This was why she found herself at a laundromat close to her place with two bin bags of dirty clothes and nothing to entertain herself but the latest episode of a _Myths and Legends_ podcast she'd recently started listening to; she'd heard this particular episode twice already and her interest was beginning to wane. Her eyes flicked to the swirling suds enveloping her dark colours and she watched them go round and round for a few seconds, a little entranced.

While it was a less than satisfactory situation, she had found that she didn't altogether mind laundromats. It was warm and filled with the low hum of whirring machines that made Rey understand why babies allegedly slept well in such environments; it was soothing and made her head light and drowsy, like being on a long bus journey. It also reminded her of the pantry at her old foster parent's house where they had kept their own washing machine and tumble dryer. When she was young, she had made a habit of going into the closet-like room while the machines were on and closing the door after her, scooting right up to the juddering appliances. The air had smelled of fabric softener and flowers and faintly of dust, and the warmth in the atmosphere was all encompassing. A few times, her carers had opened the door to find her snoozing contentedly up against the round door, cycle long since finished and having lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

Of course, it wouldn't do to fall asleep in the here and now. As a child, it might have been acceptable. As an adult, falling asleep in public generally indicated narcolepsy (unlikely) or drunkenness, which at the moment she was not even permitted to be.

This was part of the second thing wrong with Rey's day – not that she desperately wished to be drunk at present, though a glass of wine or two on Friday nights was always a nice treat – she had been placed on antibiotics just that morning for a lingering sore throat that had turned out to be an infection. She hated being ill at the best of times but this sickness had lasted for at least a fortnight already and she was losing _a lot_ of sleep over it, waking up nightly to cough up her lungs and chug down painkillers for her throbbing glands. It was not, in short, ideal. Just thinking about it made her reach a hand up to rub her neck tenderly. As she did so, her eyes idled up to gaze across the room from her and landed on the figure of a man, sat on a bench facing her.

And this guy, this guy was the third thing up with her day. Because not for the first time in the last hour, she had caught him looking at her.

Rey could deal with looks in the same way any woman is forced from a young age to be able to. Looks are fine, pleasant even if the man doing the looking is handsome and has the courtesy to come over and talk at least. But while this dude was prettier than the night sky and just as broad – for the love of _god_ , his shoulders made her think of Adonis _–_ he had not approached or spoken to her, merely kept darting glances from behind a notebook resting against his raised knees, a notebook he was drawing in.

The last few times she had noticed his attentions, she had sighed loudly and turned her head pointedly away. This time, she was all but ready to snap at him because she had a creeping feeling that _she_ was the unwitting subject of his artwork.

Swallowing, she turned back to watch her almost clean clothes, trying desperately to focus on her podcast. Calling him out and starting an argument at this juncture of the night would be awkward – she still needed to dry her things and if they both had to remain in the laundromat for an extended time following crossed words, well – again, it would be awkward. But as she stood a minute later to transfer her soggy apparel into a free dryer, she could still feel his gaze lingering on her and it made the hairs on the back of her neck go up. She gritted her teeth and wondered whether she was being her best feminist self in allowing him to get away with such behaviour. Deciding that the next time she caught him she would say something, she turned to look directly at him and caught his eye. He glanced back at his page hurriedly.

 _Oh no, you don't_ , she thought.

“Dude.” she said, raising her hands in disbelief. He looked up at her, suddenly sheepish. Well, good, he at least knew what he had been doing was wrong.

“Hi.” he said, sitting up straighter than before.

“No, not 'hi'.” she admonished with an eyebrow quirked up. “You keep staring at me.”

“Sorry, I –” he stammered, peering at her over the top of his notebook. She waited for a moment but he didn't continue. She eyed the pad in his hands suspiciously. “I know it must look weird -”

“ _Creepy_. Creepy is how it looks.”

“Creepy, yes. I – I know. I'm sorry, I just do it when I'm bored. Not bored, I mean -” he tried to explain himself in a rush, and if she could have been any more offended than she already was at his behaviour, it was by being informed that he had only been perving on her out of sheer boredom. “Look.” he said hurriedly and held the book out to her.

“I don't want to look at it!” she balked but he pushed the sketchpad into her stomach insistently. She looked down at it, reflexively opening her hands to stop it from crashing to the linoleum floor – which arguably she should have done – and gazed down at a blank ink portrait of herself sitting on a bench with her feet up, earphones in, gazing off to the side. It was – annoyingly – very good.

“There are more if you turn the pages, I wasn't being a creep – or not _trying_ to be anyway. I do it to loads of people – I mean, not loads, but the ones who interest me.”

She flicked her eyes to him, narrowing them before hesitantly flipping to the previous page. An old man with a walking stick, shaded with cross-hatching and looking up at the sky, sat on a park bench. She turned to the next page and two men, young-looking, sat at opposite ends of a what appeared to be a low wall, faces turned away from one another. She did it again and again, seeing a woman lying on her back reading a book, a homeless person swaddled in a sleeping bag, a cat sitting up proudly.

She met his gaze and found he was looking up at her expectantly.

“What do you call it?” she asked, all but tossing the pad back to him. He caught it and frowned.

“Call what?”

“The series. 'Unsuspecting Subjects'?” She hadn't expected him to flush right up to the top of his rather sizeable ears.

“Resting.” he muttered.

“What?”

“It's called ' _Resting_ '. It's a running title, it probably won't stick.”

She stared at him, feeling, for some reason, like a gigantic bitch. “Well, it's accurate at least.”

“I didn't mean to come across as freaky – or _creepy_ , really. I'm sorry. That was not my intent at all, I just thought you looked nice. Here, you can have it!” he added the last bit hurriedly, like it had just occurred to him and he quickly tore out the page.

Rey started to say, “No -” but it was too late, he was already offering the drooping paper to her, eyes wide with sincerity.

She hesitated, eyeing his proffering hands. “No.” she said gently, shaking her head. “You keep it. I've never been in a portfolio before.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he withdrew his hand, sliding the picture between the pages of his book.

“Thanks.” he said. “And sorry again-” She waved a hand at his words, cutting him off, and in a moment of spontaneity took a seat across from him, glancing at the timer on the dryer. “I feel like an idiot.” he mumbled after a few seconds.

“Are you an artist?” she asked, not bothering to comfort him – after all, she'd let him off for the most part, hadn't she?

“Aren't we all?” He shrugged. She raised an eyebrow and watched the colour rise in his cheeks again. “I mean, everyone has something they're good at, you know? Like, something they're trying to – god, I really feel like an idiot.”

“I get what you mean.” she said slowly, a small smile curling the corner of her lips. He sighed in what must have been relief.

“Yeah?” She nodded at his question but didn't go on. “So what's your thing then?” he asked.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully and gazed into the depths of the whirling machine opposite that held what were probably his clothes.

“I... I guess... I don't know.”

“You were going to say something.”

She looked at him sharply, weighing him up to see if he was the kind to scoff. Reasoning that he was in no position to make fun of her after she'd reamed him out for his own questionable behaviour moments before, she decided she could be honest.

“I kind of enjoy sewing. Like, I'd like to be a seamstress.”

She watched him carefully as he nodded his head and thankfully, he seemed unabashed, even a little impressed judging by the way his eyebrows rose.

“That's cool.”

“Well, I don't really do it much any more.” she said quickly. “Never find the time.”

“You have a rent-paying job?” he asked.

“Admin assistant.” She felt strangely embarrassed upon parting with this information.

“Saps all of your joy for the thing? Come home every night, make a cup of tea, sit down in front of the TV?”

“You don't know my life.” she said, a little too defensively because he had in fact hit the nail on the head.

“Sorry, I don't mean – it was just a guess, you know, I was generalising.” he ducked his head sheepishly and she felt sorry for her outburst – he had been right after all.

“I don't have satellite channels... so it's technically not TV.” she mumbled into her scarf. When she darted a glance at him, there was a small smile dancing about his lips.

“Netflix then?” She nodded in response. “Everyone gets distracted from their art once in a while.” As he said this, he glanced down at his book and scratched at the cover with his pen. “You just have to keep reminding yourself of what you really want and that you have to keep doing it, no matter what. That's what I try to do anyway.”

“So are you, like, professional or something?”

He looked startled, eyes wide. “Me? God, no. I mean, I wish. I sometimes commission digital art online, you know, characters and things.”

“What, from films and books and stuff?”

“Ugh, sometimes. Mainly it's...” he paused, not looking at her. “Do you know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

This elicited a bark of laughter from Rey that clearly startled him. “Yeah, I know it.”

“You play?” he asked.

“I used to at school. I don't know how good I was, the boys I played with were all super into combat and I always preferred more RP based stuff. I made the dungeon master a cape though, with a hood and everything, like a dementor. Everyone loved it so much, they all took it in turns to wear it.”

“That's really cool.” he said, smiling fully at her now, and she was pleased to see that it was a lovely thing to behold, all peach lips and straight, ivory teeth; his eyes twinkled with it, reminding her of the pastel gleam of soap suds.

After a few moments, he hadn't continued his original point so she prompted him, “So you draw people's characters for them?”

“What? Oh, yeah – and like, maps, landscapes, NPCs, things like that.”

She nodded appreciatively. “Do you get much for it?”

“Not really. It's small profit but it keeps me in the game. My portfolio is filled with Orc Barbarians and Tabaxi Rogues.”

“Classic.”

“I once did this character, a Gnome Barbarian who was like, two and a half feet tall. He was the angriest little motherfucker, had this big ass hammer and like plus twenty strength at level three, it was insane.”

She laughed appreciatively before asking, “Do you play?”

He shook his head. “Not for a while. I'd love to get back into it again but at the moment I just watch the streams and draw the characters.”

They chatted for quite a while about Dungeons and Dragons, recalling their various escapades into fantasy worlds. He even got his phone out and showed her a couple of the commissioned designs he had made; they were impressive, his digital art just as good – if not, better – than his hand sketches. He had a very distinct style, all dark lines and messy shading that gave each of his pieces a stormy, dream-scape feel.

“You're really good, aren't you?” she said, not meaning it as a question. He shrugged, the tips of his ears going pink again; the sight of it brought a smile to her lips that she couldn't suppress no matter what she tried.

“Practice.” he mumbled, locking his phone and placing it in his pocket. “I've been drawing since I was a kid, so.”

“Did you go to uni? Or do you now, I mean?” she asked, trying to gauge how old he was. Rey, herself, was small and therefore young-looking despite being twenty five. This man, on the other hand, was _big_ which might mean that his size was allowing him to pass for a lot older _._

A voice in the back of her mind whispered _why do you care?_ at which her own ears might have pinked a little.

“I went to sixth-form then took a year out – travelling, the usual stereotype. I went to uni when I got back but didn't really get on with it. The grading culture really got me down.”

Rey nodded, as though she understood, which of course she didn't because she'd never attended university herself. Or gone travelling. Or felt good enough at a thing to just quit halfway through and do it alone. “I can imagine it would.”

“You didn't go?” he asked.

“I just got a job. Went straight for the pay cheque.” She was smiling, though not very widely.

“You wish you hadn't?”

Not for the first time, he had demonstrated a curious ability of being able to see right through her. Maybe she was just being obvious? But the fact was, not an awful lot of people ever attempted to look at her that closely. Naturally, such a level of interest was slightly disconcerting to someone who was all too familiar with comfortably gliding under the radar. And yet, there he was, looking at her intently with those surprisingly bright hazel eyes, as if he were trying to see through to her bones.

“Sometimes.” she said with a shrug, sighing quietly. “I couldn't have afforded to study anyway.”

“No one can, everyone has loans these days.” he smirked.

“But the paying it back, I couldn't ever – it just seemed like an unnecessary thing. I don't have anyone to bail me out so I just had to be...”

“Sensible.” he supplied for her after a moment's pause. She met his gaze and was endlessly thankful that there was no judgement or question in his eyes, just acceptance.

“Yeah.” she breathed, almost to herself.

There was quiet for a few minutes and Rey once again spied the slow-turning dial on her dryer, coming ever closer to finishing.

“My machine broke.” she said conversationally because now that the silence had been interrupted, she found she preferred it this way. “That's why I'm here.”

He nodded. “I just came here to draw people.”

She stared at him and they looked at each other with stoic expressions for around five seconds before bursting into giggles. She found herself laughing so hard, she had to press her face into her palms to calm the sudden giddiness that had settled upon her.

“I just moved here and my flat doesn't have water.” he said, grinning in what might have been a self-satisfied sort of way.

“What, like, none at all?”

“Nope. I'm buying bottled to fill up the kettle.”

“When was the last time you had a shower?”

His colour rose again. “I shouldn't have told you this, should I?”

She laughed.

“Honestly? I've been going to the gym down by the park.” He gestured out the window and down the street. “They give you a month free when you sign up so I've just been using their showers.”

Rey's mouth was hanging open slightly.

“Wow.”

“It's been pretty grim so far but you make do with what you've got in life, I guess.”

“That's a pretty optimistic view.” she said.

“Oh, I internalise my negative emotions. I'm secretly furious.”

“Now you're talking my language.” she grinned.

It was then that a sharp ' _ding_ ' rang out in the atmosphere between them, signalling that Rey's clothes were finally dry. Her heart sank. Getting up, she yanked open the door of the machine and weighed her very warm garments in her hands. She began to siphon them into her bin bags.

“You should probably invest in a laundry hamper if your machine doesn't get fixed.” he said and she could feel his eyes on her back. She felt rather less indignant about the sensation now she knew him a little better and smiled.

“I do feel like a bit of a bag lady right now.” she said dryly, holding up the black bags.

“Scavenging for washing machine parts.” he shot quickly.

“If only my landlord would put a little effort towards that endeavour.”

“Typical cheapskate arsehole?”

“You have no idea.”

“Believe me, I really do.”

“His name's Unkar. You can probably imagine what I like to call him behind his back.”

“What's your name?” he asked so suddenly that she was taken aback.

“What?” she responded blankly.

“What's your name?” he repeated patiently.

“Ugh – Rey.” she said, trying to sound offhand as she turned to gather her satchel from the floor.

“Rey?” he repeated. She liked the way her name sounded on his tongue, liked the weight and meaning he seemed to give it. It made something stir low in her belly. “I'm Ben.”

She turned to see him smiling at her and she swallowed a dry patch that had blossomed in her throat. Biting her lip, heart beating a little harder than usual, she made a decision the likes of which she had not for a very long time.

“Ben. Can I see that drawing again?”

He handed the book to her, nonplussed. Flipping to the page where the inky sketch of her resided, she reached into her bag for the blue ballpoint she carried everywhere (just in case, you know.) Without hesitating, she wrote her name and number very clearly in the corner of the paper by her black and white ankles, taking a brief moment to check the details before closing the pad and handing it back to him with an air of nonchalance, trying not to make eye contact.

“It was nice to meet you.” she said, hoisting her bin bags of clean clothes over her shoulder. “Maybe work on your subtlety next time you're secretly trying to draw someone.”

He was smiling softly at her, eyes very bright. “Noted.” He inclined his head. “It was good to meet you too.”

“See you around, Ben.” She sang as passively as she possibly could, pushing open the laundromat door and stepping out into the chilly night air, a million miles away from the all-encompassing warmth inside.

One good thing had happened to Rey today: she had met a very attractive man.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! More to come soon hopefully :)  
> If you liked, let me know. Catch you next time, peace x


End file.
